


Like All Matter

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Captivity, Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, Empathy, Meta!Everyone, Meta!Len, Morbid Humor, Multi, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Soulmates, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Separation Anxiety, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>STAR Labs is devoting every resource into unlocking the secrets behind what the romantics call "soulmates"―ex-cons are being generously donated from prisons, but volunteers are always welcome, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Allow Me to Introduce Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone's gonna be a meta-human in this, whether their powers are visible or not, big or small scaled. It won't happen right away though.
> 
> Some trigger warnings before you start:  
> ―Depression/Anxiety Disorders  
> ―Panic Attacks  
> ―Torture, both Psychological and Physical  
> ―Self-Harm  
> ―Suicide Attempts  
> ―Mentions of Suicide  
> ―Gore

_"_ _What the romantics of our time call 'soulmates' are actually one of science's most phenomenal mysteries. Two people, connected on a cellular level, is simply extraordinary to us. Not even we at STAR Labs know the extent of their abilities, though we do know that separation is not an option. Like all matter, soulmates yearn to be whole."_ ―Harrison Wells, Press Conference (4 December 2014)

 

* * *

 

_Week 2, Day 1_

Linda looks over the final draft in her hands. "I don't know, Iris," she ventures after a moment, digesting the headline, "it's edgy― _really_ edgy―but attacking Harrison Wells of all people? Do you really think that's what you want to be doing right now?"

When she looks up, it's to the discomfiting sight of her friend slumped over her computer. Iris West's face is gaunt, sunken eyes staring blankly at her screen; her clothes hang off her like ill-fitting scraps. While she might have intended to start typing something, her fingers have wandered to the palm of her left hand. Stroking, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

"Iris?" Linda calls softly, "Iris, are you still with me?"

Back and forth, back and forth...Linda bites her lip. "Do you need me to call your dad?" she asks, as if Iris was a sick child confined to the nurse's office.

If only she had something that was easy to cure. "Iris, come on. You're zoning again."

She touches Iris' shoulder, despite every medical journal warning against it. Iris doesn't jump―doesn't even twitch. Slowly, her unnerving gaze turns to Linda, blinking as if waking from a dream.

"Sorry Linda," Iris whispers, "what was that?"

 

* * *

 

  _Week 2, Night 4_

It's strange, eating your fill and still feeling someone else's hunger. Being bandaged up and hissing at the fresh gashes on your back. Trying to sleep in your padded cell and wrinkling your nose as the scent of rotting flesh assaults your senses.

For a brief moment, Leonard Snart had felt complete. He tries to remember that sensation now, when he's once again scattered all over the floor, curling into himself in a vain attempt to ward off the gaping emptiness in his chest. They'd been paired up, shoved into the same room. Shook hands. Suddenly, there was this―ignition. He'd never been able to stand heat, but in that moment he'd felt  _reborn_ , like a frozen statue being dipped in boiling water. Every crevice of his psyche cracked and broke, only to remold around a new addition he never even realized was missing.

Encased in that open flame, he was content. He'd never experienced contentment before, not really. He'd never heard the words  _"I'm never gonna leave you"_ whispered to him with sincerity, either. And he'd never, not once in his life, thought he'd actually  _believe_ it.

He belonged to someone else, but he also  _had_ someone else. _  
_

Then―they were ripped from his arms.

It'd been too fast too soon. Now he and his had to pay the price for their mistake.

 

* * *

 

  _Week 2, Day 3_

 "Damn it, not again!"

"What's―oh  _fuck_. Is that―?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, just put the limbs in order and sew 'em back up."

"You actually think that'll work?"

"Kid passed out before he could hack everything off. Pulse is still there. So yeah, it'll work."

"How the hell do we explain this to the boss? This is the third time, and it's only the first two weeks!"

"Might need to get 'im a roommate."

"Like who? The other subjects're volatile. One of 'em even tried to burn himself alive two days ago."

"There's still one left. Room 5."

"Which one's that? Oh right,  _that_ one. Heh, sometimes I forget he's even there."

"Exactly. Well, come on, Raggedy Ann. Let's sew you back together."

 

* * *

 

Burning flesh, burningburning _burning_ , they will all burn,  _allburn, allallall_ , nothing can stop him―them,  _them_ ―nothing _nothing_ ** _NOTHING―_**


	2. Replay

_"We always romanticize soulmates, and why wouldn't we? As humans, we long to find our place in the world, whether that's somewhere we can be ourselves or someone we can be ourselves with. Soulmates fit perfectly into what we want. But I'm going to let you in on a little secret: we romanticize soulmates because we're terrified of them."_  ―Iris West, Editorial titled "What is a Soulmate?"

 

* * *

 

_Monthly Analysis: First Month_

_Uploading file: Snart, Leonard..._

_Upload complete._

Cisco turns to Dr. Wells, absently tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. Even in the height of winter it's still colder in STAR Labs than it is outside. He doesn't complain, though; Dr. Wells can't stand complainers.

"What are we looking at?" the boss asks.

"I've compiled the recordings like you asked," replies Cisco, "and Cait―Dr. Snow, she's got the report. Also like you asked."

"But what I'm asking  _now_ is what I'm looking at, not for the report."

"Oh. Right, yeah." Relieved, Cisco relinquishes his spot next to the projector screen to Caitlin. Out of the two of them, she's better at dealing with Dr. Wells' scrutiny.

The screen shows footage from the first week, when the test subjects were first introduced, not knowing they would be meeting their match. This batch, from Iron Heights, were on a strictly need-to-know basis. As far as they were concerned, STAR Labs was just going to ask them a few questions an then they'd be back behind bars. Leonard Snart and Mick Rory were of this group, both in different wings: the first was in A-wing, the other in the Psych Ward. Rory's Mark had been the only reason he was allowed out.

In this footage, Snart sits across from an invisible interviewer at a steel table. His cuffed hands are entwined, a taunting smirk on his face. His blue eyes stand out against the grey of his prisoner's uniform.

"Dr. Baez interviewed him," Caitlin says, "went through the routine questions you wrote, Dr. Wells. Here's what we got..."

 _"Now then,"_  Baez says from outside the camera lens, _"we're just going to go through a simple test and then you'll be in for your physical examination, okay Mr. Snart?"_

Snart's eyes spark.  _"Call me Leonard. Mr. Snart was my father."_

"Was?" Dr. Wells interrupts.

"Uh, yeah," Cisco replies, "police think it was murder, but they never found out who did it."

Dr. Wells hums and says nothing more on the subject.

 _"Leonard, then,"_ continues Baez, obviously trying to make him comfortable with her.  _"I will show you a series of objects, and you're going to tell me the first emotion that comes to you. If nothing significant comes to mind, just answer 'Neutral'. Understand?"_

 _"Yes, doctor,"_ Snart replies with just enough sarcasm to be noticed. Baez ignores it; there's a rustling, before a pair of hands comes into view. They're holding a big leaf, long dead.  _"Neutral."_

A watch.  _"Contemplative."_

A set of jingling keys.  _"Temptation."_

A lighter.  _"Neutral."_

A snowflake ornament.  _"Neutral."_

"He hesitated on that one," mutters Dr. Wells.

The last object is a plain pocket-sized book.  _"Neutral."_

_"Thank you, Leonard. Just follow Dr. Snow, and she'll take you to your examination."_

_"Sure thing, doctor."_ Again, he was mocking her. Nevertheless, he stands and walks out of frame.

Caitlin pauses the film. "I did his tests. Everything was normal―healthy adult male, which is surprising considering where he's been. Brain scans showed nothing unusual either. Now..." she clicks her remote, "this is the footage we took on his most recent interview."

Once again, Snart sits at the steel table. He is pale and curled into himself. There are no chains―no one needed to put them on him―and his hands are loose on the tabletop. Any trace of that calculating smirk is erased; his eyes are dull, staring at nothing.

This time, it is Dr. Snow speaking.  _"This is going to be just like your first interview, Leonard. I'm going to show you a set of objects, and you'll tell me the first emotion you feel when you see them. If nothing pops out at you, just...shake your head for me. Can you do that?"_ Snart does not respond.  _"Okay. Here we go."_

Caitlin shows him the leaf. He barely glances up before shaking his head.

A watch. Shake.

A set of jingling keys. Shake.

A lighter―Snart inhales sharply.

 _"...Leonard?"_ Caitlin ventures.  _"What do you feel?"_

After another tense moment of silence, she flicks the lighter open and lights it. The fire dances in Leonard's eyes as he stares at it. He seems mesmerized.

Finally, his voice forces its way out of him in a hoarse whisper:  _"Rapture."_

Dr. Wells' eyebrows rise to his hairline. "Now that is interesting."

"He shook his head for the others," Caitlin says, "that was the only one he responded to."

"What about his physical examination?"

"His brain activity was off the charts, and his body operated as if he was having a non-stop panic attack. Honestly, I―" Caitlin swallows, "I don't know how he's not dead, Dr. Wells."

Dr. Wells looks nowhere near remorseful for Leonard Snart. "Wasn't Mick Rory diagnosed as pyromaniac?" Caitlin nods. "Fascinating...the longer they're separated, the closer their minds become. It's as if the bond is trying to compensate for their physical distance. What about Rory?"

Caitlin hesitates. "There was a problem. We couldn't get a second interview with him. That is, there was no safe way to conduct it. He was...unstable."

"Way worse than his usual unstable," Cisco adds.

Dr. Wells hums. "Then what about our new favorite?"

Tension fills the room. Cisco tugs at his sleeves again.

"I..." Caitlin fiddles with her remote, "I assigned Dr. Garrick to conduct both of his interviews and examinations, Dr. Wells."

"Show me."

"Yes, sir."

_Uploading File: Allen, Bartholomew..._

_Upload complete._

 

* * *

 

_Monthly Visitation: First Month_

It's like a switch is thrown. Len itches and itches all the way down the hall, blinking as if just waking from a dream. Certainly feels like he was asleep―having a nightmare, more like. Why now, though?

Then one of the guards opens the door, partner shoving Len into the room. Len doesn't hear the door slam behind him.

A choked noise escapes his mouth right before they collide. (Or was it him? Maybe it was both of them? Is there a difference anymore?) There it is, there's that warmth he's been craving, that wholeness. He sinks into it like a stone, grasping onto it with every bit of feeble strength he has left.

"What're they doing to you?" Mick growls.

"Never mind that," Len rasps, pulling back just enough so they can see eye to eye, "What about you?"

He doesn't remember asking after someone who wasn't his sister. A vain hope builds in his chest, one that thinks maybe they'll let him hold onto this new moment longer than last time. Mick replies by touching their foreheads, moving one hand from his back to rest on their Mark on Len's neck. There's nothing abnormal about his temperature, but somehow his touch is white hot where it eases along the blue and red flaming storm of ice. It's good, though. Perfect.

Their bond burns and hisses with angerpainlongingaffection _fear_. Len does what he can to cool it down, give it an anchor. There's a couch near them; relaxing oughtta help. He feels dead on his feet anyway.

Mick follows him. For a terrifying second, they stop touching on the way. The resulting pain is catastrophic enough that Len yanks him back into his arms, breathing heavily from an abrupt rush of adrenaline. Not even Lisa's gotten this much attention from him in one go.

"Don't stop touching?" Mick rumbles.

Len can only shake his head.

 

* * *

 

A leaf.  _"Um...nostalgia."_

A watch.  _"Nervous. I'm always running late. It's kind of my biggest problem, heh."_

A set of jingling keys.  _"Home―anticipation, I guess?"_

A lighter.  _"Uhhh―pass. Er, neutral, sorry!"_

A snowflake ornament.  _"Oh, Christmas! Um, joy!"_

A plain pocket-sized book.  _"Happiness, definitely. I'm kind of really into reading."_

Physical examination: optimal.

Brain function: normal.

 

* * *

 

Len doesn't remember falling asleep. If he and Mick talked before he did, nothing comes to mind. There's just warmthfondnessbrotherfriendtrust flowing through him like a breath of fresh air. The bond is calm, and for once, so is Mick.

They've barely held a few minutes' conversation, yet here they are, snuggled together like children on a lumpy couch in STAR Labs―the worst prison in the country. He can't bring himself to care.

 

* * *

 

A leaf.  _"Her smile when I gave her that scarf."_

_"That's not an emotion, Mr. Allen."_

A wet giggle.  _"Yes it is."_

 

* * *

 

"How are we gonna get out of here?" Mick whispers when Len stirs on his shoulder.

"Simple," Len murmurs, "we learn how to use this―bond or whatever they're calling it, against them."

Mick's arm tightens around him. "They'll separate us again."

"But they intend to keep us alive, we know that now. Every time you're taken from your cell―" the bond ignites.  _burnthemall no one will take you again, no one no one **no** **one**_ ―" _Mick_."

Calm-cool-collected. Think-calculate-plan. Timing-location-observe. Ice-winter-snow.

Mick touches their foreheads again. He closes his eyes, and breathes.

 

* * *

 

A watch.  _"Time wasted without her."_

_"You have to give me an emotion, Mr. Allen―"_

_"And you need to shut the fuck up if you want me to answer your questions!"_

...another laugh.  _"Oh, I'm sorry. Keep going."_

 

* * *

 

"As I was saying. Every time you're taken from your cell, look around. Observe. What is going on, where are you, what's around you―anything and everything."

Mick huffs through his nose. Still doesn't open his eyes. "How'll that help?"

Len gives a weak smirk. "I don't know yet. What I do know is that we're on the six hundredth floor of STAR Labs, minimal staff, guards switching every five hours, with an elevator just down the hall from this room. It takes ninety seconds for a doctor to reach my cell should I be in need of medical attention, one hundred and thirty-four for the guard to realize something's wrong."

Mick snorts. "Anything else? Or would you like to recite Pi while you're at it?"

Len waits until his eyes are open.

With more conviction than he's ever had in his miserable life, he takes Mick's face in his hands and says, "I am not leaving without you."

 

* * *

 

A set of jingling keys.  _"When we moved in together."_

The doctor says nothing. Merely holds up the lighter.

A slow, predatory smile. Lean forward. Conspiratorial whisper:  _"How I envision taking this fucking place down."_

A snowflake ornament.  _"Her tree-trimming."_

 

* * *

 

Len's tucked under Mick's chin once more, brow resting against their Mark, blissfully cold to the touch.

"I've got a whole wing to myself, they said," Mick mumbles, squeezing Len's upper arm rhythmically. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. Len's eyelids flutter. Damn but he's exhausted. "I didn't see anyone else, not even another door, 'cept for the elevator. What about you?"

Len hums faintly. Idly he wonders if this is the bond, keeping him complacent. As if he'd think of moving anyway. "There's two closed doors besides mine. The rest are open. Failed subjects, I suppose."

"Know who's in them?"

"Only caught one name. Guards like to see us as just room numbers."

"...and? What's the name?"

Len holds back a yawn. "Allen."

Mick's chest vibrates with his quiet laugh. "Go to sleep."

 

* * *

 

A pocket-sized book.  _"How she looks when she's writing a story."_

_"Alright. Now, if you'll just―"_

_"Hey, Doc. Can I ask you a question?"_

_"...certainly."_

_"See, before they separated us, we heard you lost the abilities you got after the particle accelerator explosion."_

_"Uh, well, technically I didn't. They're just dormant."_

_"Ah..."_

_"If that's all, Mr. Allen―"_

_"No. It's not."_

A flash of lightning. A scream. Static.

Cisco grips his sleeves.

 

* * *

 

The guards come. Mick roars as Len's torn away from him. Len thinks he yells too, but it's all a mess of painnobrotherfriend― ** _burnthemallburnburnburn_** ―and then...nothing.

 

* * *

 

Physical examination: N/A

Brain function: inconclusive.

 


	3. Forged in Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no updating schedule for this, like Crypt Doors. Speaking of which, I'm gonna update soon, okay? This is just a hectic week for me.

  _"_ _What we have achieved here could unlock the secrets of soulmate biology." ―_ Dr. Martin Stein,  _F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M._

 

* * *

 

_Month 2, Week 1, Day 1_

For the first time in over a month, she can feel he's close. She succeeded.

"Why did they put you with me?" asks the shadow in the far corner. She can only glimpse his feet, fitted in sleek black Oxfords. His voice is quiet, but distinct. "Your death is almost certain."

She forces herself to smile. "Or maybe we'll end up like you." A surprised chuckle. The crackling of flesh. She clenches her fists on her thighs.

"So what did you do?"

She sighs through her nose. Swallows another scream as he takes a breath.

"I uncovered a secret I wasn't supposed to," she tells the shadow, "it's kinda my job, but I guess I went too far this time."

"A secret, hm? May I ask what it is?"

Her throat feels raw. Her limbs ache. None of it is her pain (except it is―it's  _theirs_ ).

"Not yet," she whispers, "later, okay?"

Resting her head against the wall, she listens to him scream and tries not to tear herself limb from limb again.

Wait, no...she hadn't done that.

Had she?

 

* * *

 

Always nice to wake up to screaming that isn't coming from you. Not so much when you feel your unmarred skin burning with irritation, especially when those agonized screams somehow amplify the misplaced glee you feel at the burning―none of which belongs to you.

Prioritize, Len tells himself. Understanding and using the bond is more important ( _and Mick, must calm Mick,_ help  _him_ ). Endeavoring to remain calm despite the screaming― _screaming like a frightened child, frightened because a bottle's shattering, Dad's home_ ―Len presses his hand against the burning spot on his forearm.

"Stop," he grounds out. He wants to hate having another person this close, in his head, even if it's the man who wanted to burn the world for him. But the bond pushes the loathing until it's forced to reshape.

The burning stops. Len finds that he doesn't want to know what happened. The bond nags him with emotional irritation; he ignores it. Time to take care of the screamer.

Len isn't an imbecile. He'd known the moment Mick's ministrations woke him that there was someone in the cell with him. Rolling onto his side, Len summons his coldest glare.

Huh. Hadn't expected Young Frankenstein.

 

* * *

 

Caitlin's given him a lollipop this morning, and Cisco's grateful. Twirling the stick helps keep him from tugging at his sleeves, and if he stops tugging his sleeves, everything will be fine. Well, not  _fine_ , nothing's fine anymore, but he'll be―okay-ish.

"How's the roomie situation going?" he asks once he reaches the cortex.

"Nobody's died yet," and Cisco hates how that's the best they can hope for, how Caitlin says it like she knows that's gonna change. "Ba―um, Subject 3 has woken up, and our newest subject actually talked to her roommate."

"Whoa, really? That's awesome!"

"He told her she's going to die."

Cisco pauses. He takes in the tension in Caitlin's face, her white-knuckled grip on the manila folder marked  _Subject 14._ Fourteen. Fourteen lives, fourteen―

"How'd you find a whole pack of lollipops so fast?" he wonders, taking a loud suck. Mm, grape-flavored.

Caitlin meets his eyes. "Corner store. They've got all kinds of candy."

"Awesome."

 

* * *

 

Whoever he is, Len's unexpected roommate is covered in stitches and bound to his cot with hard leather straps. Even with only his torso exposed, ugly black thread litters his skin―almost as pale as Len, which is quite a feat these days―like diseased black veins sticking out of his bones. Yet in spite of his apparent undernourishment, his muscles are toned. Clearly his lungs are still strong too.

Len grabs the thin blanket from his own cot and shoves it into the kid's mouth (because he _is_ just a kid; what kind of sick people run this place?). "Some of us would prefer to have our ears intact," he deadpans over the muffled shouts, "Much as I'm curious about your―situation, I'm going to have to ask you to shut up."

It takes a few minutes. Finally, sweet silence. After another minute, because you can never be too careful, the sheet is removed.

Thankfully, he doesn't scream. He does glare at Len though, with every ounce of venom stuffed into his lanky body. Not very effective, but Len gets the gist.

"Where is she?!" the kid snarls, straining against his bindings, "I know she's here!"

Len tilts his head. Kid sounds off―well, apart from the obvious. Something about his voice reminds Len somewhat of a motorcycle engine as it revs up. Hoarse, obviously, but. Different.

"Who is 'she'?" asks Len, though he has an idea. The kid's blinding rage reminds him too much of Mick when they were separated to be a coincidence. Still, better not to risk riling him up―oh. Too late.

" _IRIS_!" the kid roars at him, seething, baring his teeth, "My Iris! You took me from her―think you can just come in and take whatever and whoever you want, huh? Who do you think you are?! _Iris_!"

Len raises an eyebrow. He keeps his expression passive, despite knowing all too well the pain this poor kid's suffering. "I think I'm the man who's as much of a victim as you. In case you didn't notice, I'm trapped in here with you."

Confusion mists over the rage. "You're..."

"Leonard Snart," Len finishes with a smirk, "And you are?"

"Leonard Snart...like the criminal?"

"Well that's going to be a problem. We can't  _both_ be Leonard Snart."

Irked, but calmer. More present. "I was talking about  _you_."

"Ah, yes, of course. Exactly like the criminal. Some even call us twins. So who are you like, kid?"

As if a button was pushed inside his brain, the kid's anger disappears. The childish humor that replaces it sets Len's nerves on edge.

"Oh, I'm like Barry Allen," he grins, bright and sunny and  _wrong_ , "but not really."

"Not really?" Len asks flatly.

"No," Barry Allen replies, dreamlike, "not anymore."

Mick's fire laces through the bond. Angerfightburn? Len takes a breath.

"Well, Like Barry Allen," he says, "welcome to Room 5."

 

* * *

 

_Month 2, Week 1, Night 3_

Barry's sliced his own hand off, and it's only the scent of blood that alerts Len it happened at all.

Not much can surprise him, but this, "What the―"

"Oh, don't worry," Barry sighs, as if encumbered that Len's awake, "It'll heal once I put it back on."

"How did you even―what are you talking about?"

Suddenly, Barry's right in front of him, a soft whoosh of air blowing in his wake. "Shh," he whispers, pressing a bloody finger to Len's lips, "we're feeling."

Len doesn't dare move, even as Mick's molten angerconcern **protect**  rushes through him in reaction to his spiked nerves. While he's frozen, Barry's eyes drift shut. A contented sigh shutters out of him.

"Iris," he breathes, "there you are."

A split second after he opens his eyes, Len could swear Barry's hazel green has turned completely brown. Another second later, the brown is gone.

"That's right, I didn't tell you," the kid says as he re-attaches his hand, "I'm a meta-human."

"A―" Len swallows bile, "a what?"

"I was affected by the particle accelerator explosion. You remember that?"

"Yeah. I was in the middle of a job. Working with liquid nitrogen. Barely noticed." Len's voice sounds hurried to his own ears. Hurried, but thankfully still collected. An important skill when your father has a knife to your sister's throat.

"Well, I was struck by lightning. I can run really fast and apparently now my body won't let me die!" giggles Barry, like this is all a joke and they can go home tomorrow morning.

"Are there others like you? Other," Len makes a vague gesture to the door, "meta-humans?"

"I know. Isn't that a funny word?" Barry grins, "Meta-meta-meta."

He starts laughing. Doesn't stop until tears are streaming down his scarlet face.

 

* * *

 

_Month 2, Week 1, Day 4_

STAR Labs doesn't do much with them besides torture and tests, but this is the first time Len's allowed to go to the gym. Since Barry hasn't screamed in over twenty-four hours, they're rounded up together and herded into the hallway.

Barry takes one look at the door across from them―Room 2―and whimpers, " _Iris_ ," sagging forward as if he's a puppet pulled by an invisible string.

At this point Len's heard that name so many times, he doesn't know whether to pity the kid or punch him. The guards yank him away from what is apparently Iris' door, solving Len's dilemma by hitting Barry across the head. Of course he's just fine in within the minute it takes for them to reach the workout facility.

Len nearly stumbles a few feet from the door. There―that itch.

They're shoved inside and handed sweatpants and t-shirts to change into. It's a pretty standard private gym: neutral-colored walls, two bright overhead lights, no windows. Blue mats cover the floor, an exercise ball in the corner sitting next to a shelf of weights. Along the left wall, a weight bench and a treadmill. Speakers start playing some upbeat pop song that Barry starts humming along to. Yet what arrests Len's attention is the glass lining the right wall.

It's not a mirror. It's a window, and Mick is on the other side of it.

Before Len knows what he's doing, he's dropped the fresh clothes and slammed himself against the glass. Mick mirrors his pose, one hand clearly reaching to touch their Mark, the other aiming to snatch Len close. But the glass holds firm, giving nothing but a dull  _thunk_ at the impact.

Mick's mouth opens. Len doesn't hear the sound, but he can feel it, can see the veins in Mick's neck and forehead, the enraged red rushing to color his face. He takes the nearest weight and―

"It won't break," Barry says behind Len. He's not giddy anymore, but dull and listless. "I've already tried. Did you really think they'd let you both in here if they wouldn't be able to hold you?"

As he said, the glass doesn't shatter. Mick keeps banging, banging,  _banging._ Nothing happens. Len can look, but he can't touch.

"What sick psycho runs this place?" Len hisses, voice trembling.

Barry turns him around and gently guides him to his new clothes. "They'll throw us back into our cell if you don't do something. Just be happy you can see your soulmate at all."

Reluctantly, Len takes the sweats and t-shirt. He looks at Barry, already dressed.

"Don't worry," Barry says, grinning his broken grin, "I won't peek."

Len scoffs. "Not what I was worried about."

 

* * *

 

Just as they'd specified, Cisco and Caitlin meet at the corner of STAR Labs that's in a camera's blind spot. Audio's already disabled―they have five minutes.

Caitlin's sobbing before Cisco reaches her. He cries too.

His sleeve rides up as he hugs his friend. There, on the inside of his arm, is an angry red Mark:  _A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ramon._ _  
_

 

* * *

 

"Linda Park, right?"

Linda snaps her eyes up to the visitor, a woman with curls and a tense, pretty face. "Yes?"

"You're investigating the disappearance of Iris West, your colleague?"

Immediately, Linda's on her feet. "Do you know something?"

The woman smiles. Yeah, she definitely knows something, but she doesn't want to think about it. "I'm Lisa. I think we should talk."


	4. Scorched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakthroughs are made, though not all of them are necessarily good ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So I have abysmal timing when it comes to posting multi-chapter works. It's been a crazy couple months, and to top it all off, I have finals week very, very soon. Of course, there's papers, presentations, and projects -- or as I like to call them, the Three Preposterous P's -- along with the tests for which I have to study. I'll update when I can, like right now, when it's six in the morning and I can't go back to sleep! :D
> 
> IMPORTANT! As I've said before, I literally make these things up as I go along. Next to nothing is pre-written. So Cisco's Mark has been changed in the previous chapter for reasons pertaining to (spoilers).

_"What's fascinating about soulmates isn't just their genetic makeups or empathetic and even telepathic abilities. To me, the extreme emotions, actions, and words soulmates can inspire in and about each other is the truly phenomenal thing. A violent dictator could become a fair ruler (Beuhler 22); likewise, a peaceful person could turn into something volatile (Warner 849)."_ ―Barry Allen-______, "What Speaks Loudest in Soulmates"

 

* * *

 

_Month 2, Week 3, Day 5_

It's obvious to Len that Barry snapped a while ago, from severing his own hand just to feel a deeper connection to "Iris" to his dramatic mood swings. Still, he's never seen him try to kill anyone but himself.

On a good day, Barry's destructive behavior consists of vibrating his hand and slicing his skin open, or running in the gym until he collapses, blood seeping from his nose. Because he's too young to be suffering like this, Len helps when he can: staying Barry's hand, making cold remarks about Iris so Barry's ire is directed at someone else (him), etc.

During the ~~tests~~ torture, Dr. Snow quietly thanks him for his efforts while she prepares her syringe. Len politely tells her where to stick that needle.

Today, though, Barry's roaring like a caged animal (like  _Mick,_ which is all kinds of wrong on that pretty face). Gathering what sense of self-preservation he has left, Len carefully backs into the farthest corner of their little cell. Barry bangs his fists bloody on the door, his entire body crackling with yellow lightning. Before this, they'd been having a civil conversation―Barry about his life before captivity, Len opting to listen and ask little questions. Suddenly  _this_ happens.

And then, Barry moves. Len barely makes it to the center of the room before the streak blows past him, circling and circling andcirclingcirclingcircling. He tries not to panic, taking deep breaths past the sharp wind and enraged bellowing encompassing the cell. He is not back in that house, he tells himself, and that is not Lewis' drunken insults hurling at his ears.

Mick bursts through their bond, angerburnconcernburnbrotherburnfriend. Despite the aggression, Len finds it helps ground him. If he's distracted with cooling Mick down, he's not focused on what's whirling around him.

Guards are shouting, dim noises against Barry's force. Someone might be trying to talk through a speaker, but they have the same effect. Len embraces Mick's heat with his own ice and settles to wait.

It doesn't take long. Barry abruptly becomes visible again―only this time, he's  _hurling lightning_ at the door. Len thinks there's no way that could work, metal's a conductor. He doesn't count on the guards unlocking it.

Shit. That kid  _planned_ it.

And now someone's lying on the floor, unmoving. Their partner's screaming bloody murder. Barry? Barry's yanking the keys from the body, practically foaming at the mouth, and blurring to Room 2.

Once again, Len is faced with the impossible: as Barry tosses the door open, a man on fire greets him. A man on fire, and a screaming young woman.

He can't help but think, of  _course_ they'd soundproof the cells.

Barry's off his head. Even in his worst moments, Len's never seen him like this. It's like watching an avenging angel finally able to spread his wings and  _act_. In an instant, his hands are wrapped around the flaming man's throat, pinning him against the wall. The sound of searing flesh hisses through the air as the man's fingers grip Barry's wrist, yet Barry doesn't seem to notice.

"You think I wouldn't see?" he yells instead, ramming the man's head against the wall again, "That I wouldn't know you were trying to  _burn her alive_?! That I wouldn't feel your hands on her?!"

Len's torn between stepping forward or stumbling back. Barry is―he's scaring him.

"I wonder," Barry continues, a savage growl in his voice, "if I could take you for a run,  _break your neck_. Oh no, no-no-no, that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Too quick for what you've done. What about electrocution, huh? I could―"

And then,

Barry

freezes.

 

* * *

 

Lisa takes Linda to Jitters. Her treat, she says. They get a table in the back, Lisa setting the big purse she's carrying in her lap. For all intents and purposes, they're just two women having a business lunch.

They make small talk to keep up appearances while their orders are being filled. Once the coffee's on the table, Lisa puts her bag next to her chair and says, "Iris West is inside STAR Labs."

Linda's eyebrows furrow. She shakes her head, "That's impossible. She was with her father―"

"Until Detective West was put on a wild goose chase by an anonymous tip," Lisa interrupts, "I was monitoring the police scanners when it happened."

"Why haven't you brought this information to the police?"

She knows Lisa's answer before it comes: "Because I don't have enough evidence to support my claim. Besides, no one would believe me even if I did have proof. I need someone with credibility to present it to the public, someone with good enough reason to risk the danger of following through. You're a sports reporter, but I'm sure you wouldn't mind this deviation from touchdowns and scandals."

Linda takes a slow sip of her coffee. A source is a source, but she needs something substantial. "Why should I believe anything you're saying?"

Instantly, Lisa retrieves a folder from her bag. Without delay, she hands it over. "I'll let this speak my piece. When you're ready to talk," she says, "I put my number in there. Until then."

She leaves her cup untouched. Linda mindfully puts the folder in her own bag.

Well. Looks like she's got some reading to do.

 

* * *

  

Len watches with bated breath as the young woman― _Iris_ , she must be Iris―wraps around Barry from behind. Not another cry leaves her lips; she just holds onto her soulmate like an anchor to a wayward ship.

The flaming man becomes a man. Young, good-looking, probably late twenties. Horrified.

"I'm so sorry," he rasps, "I-I couldn't control―"

Barry drops him to the floor without another care. He blurs around; next thing Len sees is a tearful reunion between soulmates. They cling to each other, sobbing the other's name and "I found you" or "mine, mine,  _mine_ " among other sweet nonsense. It's all very cute, a classic Hollywood moment.

And damn it if Len doesn't yearn for it. Mick replies, a rush of metoo.

Wait a minute. That wasn't an emotion. That was― _  
_

_Me too._

Oh.

_...Mick?_

_Oh._

 

* * *

 

Behind Caitlin and Cisco's backs, Dr. Wells smiles to himself. Time to move to the second stage.

 

* * *

 

_Month 2, Week 3, Night 5_

Linda's reeling.

Not only does Lisa have a valid reason for approaching her, she has a  _soulmate_ within STAR Labs, trapped with the others. And there are others, because Lisa is Lisa _Snart_ , sister to Leonard Snart, the methodical criminal who thinks Central City's his playground even from Iron Heights.

Only he's not at Iron Heights anymore. According to the records Lisa undoubtedly stole, her brother's disappeared without a trace from the prison. One day he was on roster, the next, his name's not on it. No trace it ever was. Him, and one psychotic pyromaniac Mick Rory, whose name Lisa's circled with a gold pen and written  _I think that's his Mark_.

Because of course the coldest man in the state would have a pyro for a soulmate.

Then there's the case of Barry Allen. He went in for an interview at STAR Labs―the volunteer program for soulmates so the scientists could gather firsthand accounts from the public about what it is to literally be the other half of someone. Barry did come out, went to work for a whole month. Then, around the time Leonard Snart and Mick Rory disappeared, he vanished as well. The time frames are similar, but the events seem unconnected, especially when Snart and Rory officially didn't happen at all.

If Linda could get herself into STAR Labs, she could find out more. That being said, Dr. Harrison Wells runs the place, and he's nothing if not clever. That's not even accounting for what Lisa's found on him―and _fuck_ , if she's right, those prisoners are in more trouble than anyone thought. Linda's going to need help.

"Lisa. I think we should have coffee again."

 

* * *

 

Good news: the guard's alive, meaning Barry didn't kill anyone. Iris and Barry are reunited. Dr. Wells has stormed in, demanding to know what's going on, and ordering a full stop to it. Basically, the cells have been switched to comfortable rooms.

Bad news: the guard's in a coma with no guarantee of waking. Iris and Barry, while curled into each other and whispering what's most likely more sweet words between them, Len's bond is screaming at the very sight of them. Also, Leonard Snart is not stupid; he knows Dr. Wells is in on this. Nothing happens in STAR Labs without his knowing about it.

In other words, Len's sinking into a plush bed, still imprisoned, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But, more good news: he and Mick's separation in the face of Barry and Iris' reunion has forced the bond to once again work to compensate. They're having a conversation right now, in their heads.

_This is going to be very useful_ , Len says as he listens to Iris and Barry in the bed across from his.

_I can feel_ and  _hear you thinking,_ gripes Mick, _and I'm trying to sleep. How is this going to be useful?_

Len shows him a myriad of possibilities, lip curling in amusement when Mick grumbles, _I_ _still need my sleep._

_You do that, Mick._

_I just said I can't! You'd think this mindspeak―_

_Telepathy―_

_―yeah, telepathy, whatever! Point is, were you even listening? I can't sleep because of your thinking!_

Len rolls his eyes.

More bad news: Mick is going to get annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want this much plot, I swear.
> 
> Oh, and yes, you should definitely be wondering about Barry's hyphen at the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


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